Love Is An Actual Strength
by theglamourfades
Summary: Two hearts, finding each other unexpectedly, fighting through adversity, celebrating in joy - becoming one. Anna and Bates throughout their relationship, in scenes throughout the series of Downton, and how their love conquers all.
1. A Show of Strength

**A/N: _Anything Could Happen _****is still very much a WIP, but I wanted to step back into the Downtonverse because I've missed being there. I don't have any solid ideas for stories right now (maybe S4 will change that?) so I figured a series of (short-ish) scenes would be the best way to do things, as moments occur to me.**

**This will be updated as and when inspiration strikes (and I get the time). Hopefully there will be time for a few at least before S4 rolls around. Scenes will be from S1 to far and beyond and won't be in any chronological order, just A/B throughout their relationship. I have some ideas and moments I would like to visit, but otherwise I am open to suggestions and prompts. I can't promise I will get to them straight away with juggling writing and real life duties but I always welcome ideas for inspiration, and as always, I'd love to hear what you think.**

**Beginning with something that could happen at the start of S4 (but probably won't). Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything to do with Downton Abbey, more's the pity.**

**Thanks to the lovely and talented herewestand on Tumblr for the beautiful cover image :)**

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John sighed deeply as he met his reflection in the small, slightly smeared mirror. Having fixed on the stiff collar, he tried to focus his gaze on knotting the tie that was draping round his neck but found it impossible to ignore the red scratch stretching across his cheek, the consequence of his supreme clumsiness that morning, slicing himself as he shaved at the basin. The sting still felt raw against his skin. His eyes lowered for a moment before he gathered resolve and looked at himself full in the face. He never particularly enjoyed regarding himself in this way. He wasn't a vain man by any means, but he was only human, and that meant it was all too easy to find flaws in his appearance. The lines on his face were increasing daily, growing deeper with age. Shadows were gathered under his eyes and he wasn't sure that he would ever fully be rid of the hollows that had sunk his cheeks during those dark months.

Running the calluses of his fingers over the graze, holding the skin taut, a smile twitched on his lips as he recalled the softness of her touch, her hands roaming fascinated over each crease and mark as she lay on the pillow. The daylight that bathed them both while they met the morning together in their marital bed illuminated every inch of him harshly and still, without fail, he would dip his shoulders, trying to hide himself away. She soon put a stop to that, cupping both hands around his face, delicate but insistent. He couldn't help but flutter his eyes shut at her strokes; a salve, the touch of an angel.

"_Don't you look away from me, John Bates. I need to have the pleasure of seeing my most handsome husband's face when I wake first thing in the morning."_

He would give a hoarse laugh; he could never deny her anything. Her beautiful blue eyes fixed upon him as the tips of her fingers marked their path, claimed him as hers and hers alone with the purest of touches. He never much liked his appearance, but thanks to her reverence, her care, her consuming love, he had grown to be accepting.

He let out another long sigh thinking of the cut, considering the reason why he had acquired it. It was his duty as his Lordship's valet and so he knew it was just something simple that came with the territory, but it didn't make it any easier to bear, especially not now. Though it had been more than a year since his release, he still had great trouble having to leave Downton, being wrenched away from their cramped but completely perfect little cottage. It would only be three days, he told himself. Three days and two nights away from the comforts of home, away from the ever-loving arms of his wife. A deep pang socked him in the stomach. To think in his previous marriage he would find any excuse, going to the village an hour away for five minutes for something that didn't even exist in his mind, just to escape. If the world turned at his beckoning, he would make it so that he would never have to leave Anna's side. He chuckled, wondering what exactly she would think to that. He couldn't help but thinking, or rather knowing, that she wouldn't have any complaints.

Walking the short distance to the bedroom, the smile drifted further, reaching up to settle deep in his eyes as he saw her, curled in a neat ball, the only movement she made the soft, involuntary rise and fall of her ribcage. She was still in her black silken dress, not having bothered to crawl under the covers, her golden hair slightly messed. Leaning against the cracked wooden frame of the door, John breathed in relief, in sheer wonder. He still felt like he was walking in a dream simply to be so near to her, to have the privilege to watch her in this way. He never wanted to be accustomed to the feeling.

She was snuffling very lightly in her sleep and the sound was incredibly sweet to John's ears. How he cherished it every night next to his ear, believing for too long that he would not have the pleasure of hearing it for the rest of his days. She slept a lot now, falling effortlessly into slumber at the end of the day, clutching at it when she was afforded a free afternoon, as was the case today. At least today she had made it back to the cottage and hadn't ended up dozing in one of the guest rooms at the Abbey. He wondered how she would spend their time apart in the coming days. Most likely in the same way. It was more likely that she would find a way to be even busier than usual, working herself hard into the ground. If he ruled the world, he would also ensure that Anna had more than her fair share of time to rest and recuperate; God knows that it was well owed to her. But there were greater demands on her now, regretfully, and not for the first time in his life, he was helpless to ease them for her. He just prayed that his enforced absence wouldn't be a further weight upon her slight shoulders. To his surprise she had born the news quite well, wrapping her arms around him, smiling sweetly, kissing him contentedly.

"_It won't be for long. We have survived far worse; this shall be a walk in the park, over before it has begun."_

He supposed she was entirely right. He wasn't aware of a single situation in their life together when his brave, beautiful, clever wife had been wrong. It was a blessing really, and he shouldn't have been fussing over it if there was no need, yet as sure as dawn followed dusk, he would worry. Especially when it came to Anna.

The scene before him was so peaceful that it seemed almost against nature to break it. He braced his palms carefully against the edge of the bed, wincing a little as his knee protested against being lowered to the floor.

"Anna, my love." He kept his voice as gentle as the brush of a spring breeze, but couldn't resist caressing a finger over her rosy cheek. "You need to wake up."

She whimpered a little as she unfurled her limbs, and in the next instant she had awoke, her eyes a burst of blue upon his darker ones, the colours colliding. Her dainty hand, shining with the glint of her wedding band, shifted upon the bed and grasped his swiftly, naturally. The wonderful feeling of their fingers being joined struck John, a welcome and familiar warmth surging through his veins, easily combating the ache of his leg against the hard floorboards.

Her other hand rested against her forehead, and she smiled an enchanting, sleepy smile at him.

"What time is it? Did I oversleep?"

John stroked the smoothness of her porcelain skin reassuringly. "No, my darling. It's just that I must be going now. His Lordship wants us to depart from the Abbey in less than an hour."

"Oh." A shadow seemed to pass momentarily over her features. She was bolt upright before long, rushing around the room, adjusting the pins in her hair. "I'll just need to fix myself, it won't take me ten minutes."

He had to suppress a laugh at the sudden change in her, how she could charge into action so quickly.

"There's no need. I'd rather you get your sleep than nearly break your ankle running round after me."

As she turned to enter the bathroom, an adorable frown knotted her brow. "There is all the need in the world."

"Anna, I insist."

She still ran around regardless.

He picked up his worn travelling valise at the door, putting on his coat, holding off on fixing the hat to his head. Glancing at his pocket watch and then up the stairs, he sighed before calling out. There wasn't any longer to wait, but it felt very strange not seeing her face before he went.

"Anna, love, I have to go. I'll be back before you know. I love you."

He took a final turn around and found his breath snatched away at the sight of her, standing radiant and strong in the hallway but with her face pale, a glistening of tears marking her lashes.

"You will be taking the train?" Her voice was small, with a little shake, yet resolute. "Tell me that you will be boarding the train, John."

He swallowed hard to try to vacate the lump that had surfaced in the base of his throat. She was looking at him so intensely, her bottom lip straining not to wobble.

"We will be, to go to London." He couldn't lie to her anymore, not even white ones to try and cause her less hurt. They only ever had the tendency to cause more in the long run. "But we must take the car to the train station. And after we arrive…"

A hard gasp came from her and seconds later, the tears were streaming down her face. He threw down the valise with a thump, taking her shuddering arms into his to steadying ones, doing his utmost to soothe her. Her sobs tore his heart in two as they cascaded.

"Shhh, my love. Shhh," he repeated over and over, holding her close to his chest, feeling her soak the edges of his waistcoat. "Don't cry. We've had enough of that." He drew his thumb across the curve of her jaw, tipping her tearful eyes up to look into his. "Tell me what the matter is. I can't leave you like this."

That last sentence only brought forth more helpless cries.

"I…I've been having dreams," she stuttered inbetween sobbing, clutching onto him. "Horrible ones. You and His Lordship were in a car, driving to London. The day was awfully stormy. No one could see what was on the road ahead. I was there, somehow. Another car came out of nowhere. I cried, but I could do nothing." Her fingers held tighter onto the lapels of his jacket. "You were thrown yards, your face was covered with…I ran to hold onto your hand, to touch your face. You were already cold, you weren't breathing. I couldn't do anything. And it was all my fault."

He breathed heavily, guiding a hand over her head as it fell upon his chest.

"How long have you been dreaming this?"

Her voice was a croak. "Since you said you had to go away, for a month solid."

And he thought she had been perfectly fine. He cursed himself for not looking harder.

"You should have said something." His words were as soft as the strokes he was issuing upon her hair.

"I didn't want to bother you," she whispered. "And speaking about it makes it seem more real somehow. When I think of poor Mr Crawley…"

Of course. The time she spent, almost every hour of the waking day consoling a grieving Lady Mary, she would think of nothing but. He had often conjured the image himself; of the young father just made, all of his prospects and future swiftly snatched. Fate could be so cruel, and yet he had always been spared.

"Anna, I'm your husband. It's my job to share your burdens, and do as much as I can to take them away from you." He sighed to feel her tiny frame fitting snug against him, her heart beating out a hasty rhythm. "What happened to Mr Crawley was a terrible accident. The type of unavoidable thing that happens so rarely. I have always been safe travelling before, and I'm sure this time will be no different."

He tucked his thumb gently under her chin, lifting her head with a flood of love in his eyes.

"Besides, how could I fail to be safe with this to send me on my way?"

With the greatest tenderness, he brushed his lips over hers. He felt Anna's hands grasp tighter for a moment, heard her mewl softly before her fingers relaxed upon him, stilling and then smoothing over his jacket, stroking his chest slowly as her mouth mirrored the same action higher. He let the sweet kiss deepen for a moment, a testament to his need for her now and always, a promise of the truest love he could ever know, a vow that no darkness would be cast upon their light ever again.

He savoured the slow opening of her eyes, the steady breath that she inhaled, taking his own with her. She turned her head a little, raised her hand up to trail her fingertips delicately over the reddened graze inched upon his cheek. She smiled, shaking her head lightly at the mark.

"What'll I do with you, eh?"

John grinned back at her, lifting her other hand to his mouth. "I'll give a call to the Abbey the second we arrive."

She narrowed her eyes, giving the little pout of her lips that always made his heart flutter like mad. "Be sure that you do." Then there was a smile, and he felt his heart sigh with relief.

Making his way down the well trodden-path that led to the great house, John gazed at the clear sky from beneath the brim of his hat and reflected. He had never doubted that his wife was the strongest woman he had ever known, but even he could take that strength for granted sometimes. It was easy to do when it was always there, silently propping him up, keeping him afloat in times of trouble. From now, in the moments when he had to be away from her, he swore that his strength, made from the love she had given to him, would stay, giving her something to always hold onto.


	2. A Question of Love

**A/N: Thanks so much for the reviews, favourites, follows! They mean the world.**

**This chapter is a little different from the first, more introspective. It deals with the aftermath of the scene that made me a devoted die-hard A/B shipper so I couldn't stay away from it.**

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"_Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength;  
loving someone deeply gives you courage." - __Lao Tzu_

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As the day had been so bright, it seemed entirely natural that such a fine night should follow. The air was pleasantly warm, even at this late hour, and the horizon that stretched out was unmarked by a single cloud, the sun nestling low, casting out a wonderful glow. Anna couldn't refrain to feel uplifted by the sight, being calmed too by the gentle babble of the water that was passing mere yards in front of her.

Having finished supper a little later than usual and with duties concluded a little earlier after the evening out, she had taken the opportunity to walk down to the lake. It was something that she liked to do when the summer nights came around, and of course, when she had the time to do so. Even in the hazy length of the season, a servant didn't have much cause to stop and use the heat or its effects on the mind and body as an excuse to cease work.

Occasionally, she thought back to the days before she came to the Abbey, almost like someone else's life now; the long summers on the farm, every hour from sunrise to sunset spent out of doors with the sun turning her fair skin pink and then bronzed, the light dotting of freckles turning more prominent beneath her eyes. It was funny, how back then she believed herself to be so carefree when in fact the work was much harder. Well, perhaps not _harder_, exactly, just different. Perhaps it was being outside for such a duration that had made the difference. Certainly, it was never as pretty or as peaceful there as it was here, and that was one thing she could never take for granted living her life at Downton Abbey. Amidst all the hustle and bustle, the chaos that occurred almost daily, there were many hidden places that she could go to escape; moments, however brief they may have appeared to one not accustomed, that she could call her own. She was exceedingly glad that she was able to be within one of these moments right now.

She hadn't been at the lake in so long; not once this summer, and she was unable to recall being there the year before either. It would have been strange, given how much of a ritual it had once been to her, but then she had new rituals now, other places to go. She thought fleetingly of the courtyard, the crates that were stacked there, the corners that went unoccupied until the certain hour rolled around. The two shadows that fell silently upon the ground as the sun began to lower in the sky, out of their sight. She wondered if his lone shadow would be there now, missing hers by its side. She wondered if he had ever been out to the lake. One evening, soon she hoped, she would take him here and they would talk. They would just be. As they had been so before, if it was at all possible to be that way again. She hoped so with all her heart, more fervently than for any other wish she had held there.

Her feet were bare, having cast aside her boots and rolled down her stockings, and she sunk them further down as she edged closer to the bank, the blades of grass both soft and sharp against her soles. The rush of the water just below called to her, pleadingly. She nearly toppled as she braced the slight dip down, planting her left hand firm onto the ground against the rushes that grew there to stop herself from slipping and soaking her skirt. Catching her breath, she became aware of the silky stem she was still holding in her right hand. She must have clutched the flower since she had finished supper, picking it up again from where it lay in her lap. Now, it had narrowly avoided being flattened in her tumble, held up lightly in the air, still in tact.

Adjusting herself, hitching up her skirt just enough so that she could dip her toes into the cool lake, she took the delicate little flower between her fingers. Its petals were deep blue as if it had been submerged in a well of ink, spots of dove-white blotting the edges. Anna traced them with her fingertips, watching the petals twist and flutter just perceptibly in the hardly noticeable breeze, the colours even more vibrant in the fading light.

There had been so many beautiful flowers at the flower show and she loved wandering around, looking at them all. But it was this type that had caught her eye, held her attention rapt over all others. It was not an ostentatious, extravagant bloom; it didn't really have a noticeable sweet scent. It sat in its display with the others of its like, humble and with a simple beauty. Yet she found herself instinctively drawn to it, could not cease her admiration. She fancied that Mr Bates had been taken with it too. She was certain that she felt his gaze settled there, even catching it herself momentarily across the room as she reached out to take one flower up from the table. In the moment that their eyes locked she had chanced a coy smile, which died on her lips when he swiftly averted his look, turning his whole body away in the other direction but a second afterwards.

When the stalls were being packed away and people began to slowly drift out, Anna asked Mrs Hughes if she may collect some of the flowers that had gone untaken. It would be a nice treat to have some blooms in the servants' hall, a little pleasure that everybody could enjoy. Mrs Hughes replied that she did not see why not, as long as his Lordship and her Ladyship had no objections. Having seen that his Lordship had already departed with Mr Bates, Anna felt both a little saddened but also relieved that she could put herself to some other occupation. She circled the village hall, gathering a selection in a small basket. When she came again to stand by that table, she picked out the small blue flower from the bunch with consideration, the lighter shade of blue of her eyes studying it before she tucked it carefully into her bag and carried it home.

Holding it out again, she ran her fingers over the soft petals. They came to fix on one, which had a prominent white blotch at its base. Meaning to look closer at the intriguing pattern, she found that in her fascination she had been a little too heavy-handed, and the petal was now hanging lopsided, a couple of fine threads just about keeping it attached to its stem.

Once again, she thought about her younger self, sitting amongst haystacks, making garlands out of daisies. She should have suspected back then that she would have a talent for sewing and mending, given the deftness that she had in attaching the little flowers together. Her sister and friends from the neighbouring farms would use their collections in quite a different way, giggling as they sat in a huddle, shedding the small petals one by one, chanting as each floated to the ground:

"_He loves me…he loves me not…he loves me…"_

Anna would laugh along with the game but had to think that it was all rather silly, and certainly did not amount to much. For one thing, it was a waste of flowers, even if daisies did grow quite commonly. Speaking for herself, she would much rather make something pretty from them, or simply enjoy them as they wavered in the light summer wind. Certainly, that was much better than pulling the poor things to bits, sacrificing them all in the name of _love_, apparently. She couldn't confess to knowing all that much about it – she was quite sure that being a recipient of a few awkward kisses from farmhands did not amount to love – but she did imagine that it was such a thing that could not be guessed at, decided by such a game of chance.

Her sister had quite a crush on one of the farmhands from a few fields over, and pouted as she tugged off the final petal of her flower somewhat reluctantly, before scrabbling to her feet and storming off in a huff. Anna sighed, watching her sister trying to stifle her tears against the open door of the barn. She would give her a little time on her own first, to recover from the blow.

It was a silly game, indeed. You didn't need to rely on such things when it came to true love. If someone really loved you, they would let you know through their actions and their words towards you. Their love would be plain to see, unmistakable to know. You would feel it with every bit of you, even when they weren't around for you to breath it in. She did not know love, not then, but she could not think that it would possibly exist in any other fashion.

The blue petal dangled beneath her eyes, tantalising to her fingertips to take hold of. It wouldn't take that much effort to pull it free completely, see it flutter down into the still water.

She loved him. She had been so sure of it for so long, that when she had told him so there were no doubts holding her back. Perhaps she had been a little shocked at just how forthright she had been, and wondered exactly where the sudden surge of courage had stemmed from within her. But either of those things she could not ponder for long at all. She loved him. That was the beginning, the middle and the end of it; of everything.

She loved Mr Bates.

But, did he love her?

She had searched his eyes for an answer when he could speak of nothing but the reasons why he should not on the road to the village hall. She had looked for signs throughout the flower show, holding her breath when she realised that he was looking at her intently during the prize announcement. Everyone else regarded Mr Bates as someone who never gave anything away, kept himself firmly to himself. While it was true that he was a private man, in the countless evenings that they had sat in the hall or stood in the courtyard he had let his guard down to her and only her.

She saw a side of him that nobody else did, kept secrets that he told her silently close to her heart. He might have told her that he was not a _free man_ in every sense, but he must have surely known that he could always be free in his emotion, in himself, with her. She would not tell another living soul if that's how it was meant to be, even if it was to go no further in its declaration than simply a deep understanding between the two of them. When it came to this matter, it seemed that he would do everything to keep himself shackled and restrained, resigned to a life of denial. It hurt her more than any physical pain she had encountered to think that she could not read him now when she always had done so effortlessly before. It was the hardest thing to go on loving someone when you did not know whether they loved you just the same way.

Yet she was sure that she would never stop loving him. Several worlds would have to end before she even considered it. She had been through many hardships in her life, her other life so far away, that she would be able to bear this. It was not a hardship to love in such a way that made her heart sing, that made her feel so free despite all the apparent obstacles. It was a love that made her very being feel whole suddenly, when she hadn't even considered before that there may be something missing. It was certainly not a hardship to love such a good, fine, honourable man. She knew he was all of these things, his protests would never tell her otherwise. He may not have believed himself to be perfect, but Anna had never wanted perfection. He was who he was, with his past and his pain and his scars, and she loved him for all of it. She knew him, even if he had not and would not tell her everything about himself. She hadn't wanted perfection, but in her eyes, Mr Bates was just that.

As the backs of her fingers caressed the underside of the petal, Anna directed her eyes to the sky that was deepening a shade of red.

Sometimes she doubted that he would ever say it to her out loud. But did it matter? She knew him, better than anyone else did, better almost than she knew herself at times. She didn't need to hear it, not when she felt it. Not when she knew.

_He loves me._

Mr Bates may not have been a man of many words, but that only meant that his actions were of greater meaning. She had to smile when she thought of all the many courtesies he had extended to her, happening as soon as he had arrived at the house and when he had every right to be concerned only with his own problems. Something as simple as holding the door open for her when she had her hands full. A kind smile that would brighten her at the end of a long day. Nobody had ever shown her such kindness and consideration in all her life, done the little but wonderfully meaningful things he had done for her.

She still replayed in her mind many times the evening when she had been laid low with illness and she felt so miserable for missing the fair, but more so for not being able to be downstairs in the hall with him. The tray he had brought had been so thoughtful, and with flowers that were so pretty. Though the flower she was holding now looked nothing like those ones, she still smiled fondly upon it in memory.

Later, when she had recovered, she thanked him for the act, confessing that she thought she had been forgotten. He had replied, quietly, that she would never be forgotten by him.

Even now she felt the heat rise upon her face and take over her head. It was always so easy to be forgotten in their circumstance, and to hear him say that…it was the very thing that confirmed her already growing love for him.

Then there was the look in his eyes. Not just the soft, contented look he had given her after she had taken the tray from him, but the look that seemed to be permanently there whenever she happened to fix her gaze with his. It was always the same, but also changed over time. In the passing of the months, she saw more light behind the shadows. An openness. An avowal. She would find him looking upon her in the quietest of moments, when she lifted her head from polishing buttons. There was so much to see within his eyes. Graciousness, calm, deep joy. Something she had never seen before when anybody had looked at her, and that she couldn't describe. Only that it made her feel blissful and restless and ever so alive. It seemed to make him spark to life too, when she returned the look with a soft smile.

It could only be…

Anna looked at her fingers, now landed firmly upon the petal parallel to the one that was forlorn, clinging on for dear life.

She was only guessing.

_He loves me not…?_

Too often, the look was chased away before she could lose herself in it any deeper, really determine what it may mean. More likely it was to do with his own struggles than with his feelings for her. Anna scrunched her brow in uneasy contemplation. Was she even entitled to refer to them when she did not understand for certain what they may be? It was entirely possible that when he looked at her in that affecting way, it was only ever affecting her. They were firm friends; indeed, their friendship was rare and unique. Perhaps this deep, captivating look spoke of an appreciation, a great thankfulness for that special, as before unknown friendship.

The way he had looked at her when she had poured out her love for him had been intriguing. He had regarded her intently, seeming to stare to the very heart of her, and she had burned. Not with shame, never with shame. Rather with anticipation, with confusion. Looking back into his eyes as deep as she could allow herself, she saw that he respected her for being honest. She saw that he admired her for other qualities, and that admiration had been confirmed when he had deemed her to be a lady to him. She saw him being dignified, for the both of them in what had been a moment that was less than so. But love? Perhaps she had looked too hard. It wasn't truly invisible. Neither was it as clear and comforting as the sunlight that had shone down upon them.

Perhaps he regarded her much like the little flower she had been so drawn to. Dainty, fragile, in danger of being irrevocably damaged by the truth. She had been strong enough to say the words, to stand her ground for a few fleeting moments. But when they faded upon the air, the valour had left her. She had been scared as she continued along the road on her own, with him travelling on the cart just in front. Though she felt his gaze on her, warmer than the afternoon sun that was streaming against her back, she hadn't dared to look up for fear of what she might have found this time in his eyes. She was fearful for what he may have discovered in hers.

He would have seen the dim light of love somewhere, never to be extinguished whenever he was in her sight or merely in her thoughts. But she was quite sure he wouldn't have seen so much of what he was used to from her. She didn't want him to think that he had altered her for the worse. She was sure he already believed that was the case, no matter how fervently she argued otherwise. The love she had for him would only ever change her for the better, had already changed her so much. She no longer recognised the reflection that looked back at her each morning and every night, but it only thrilled her. She would sink happily into her new skin, buoyed by what had been unveiled within her heart. When she could be certain of what lay within his, then she could become who she was meant to be. She was already halfway there.

Anna laid the little flower on the ground, pressing her hand lightly over the stem; pinning it to the earth, where it belonged. The air began to cool with the disappearance of the sun and before long she dusted herself down, heading back to the big house, taking the flower with her.

She let the petals alone, and none dropped to the ground.

When she was back, she found the little vase in one of the cupboards, a little smile drifting onto her face as she filled it with water, her fingers clutching it firmly. She placed in the flower and held the vase carefully in her cupped hands until she could place it down on the windowsill not far from her bedside.

In the days and weeks that followed, she was glad to see that the bloom thrived, its colour deepened by the light; the petal that looked so close to withering or letting go still grasping on tight, somehow.

Maybe she was more like this little flower than she had considered. As each day and week passed, she felt herself thriving too, what she thought had become lost being revived in her again.

She still didn't know for sure whether he loved her in return, but she could face the fact with an easier smile and a lighter heart now. Love had made her courageous that day, and it was the same love that gave her the courage to go on, even if she never lived to hear the words being spoken.

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**A/N: I included some of the dialogue that was originally in the tray scene from 1.4, I don't know if it was spotted. I really loved those lines, though I think the scene worked just as well (probably better?) with them being cut, so I worked them into when Anna was recovered instead.**


	3. Men Improve With The Years

**A/N: I really don't know what it is with me, Bates and Yeats. Maybe it's the rhyming of their names...this chapter didn't really go exactly the way I envisioned, so I'd love to know what you think.**

**I'm not sure when _The Wild Swans at Coole_ came out, but my source said 1919, so let's say it was out in April then ;)**

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There had been a strange atmosphere in the hall all day, since last night really. It seemed more crammed and yet lifeless all at once, with such anxiety and restlessness hanging in the air. John had keen knowledge of both sensations, most specifically from his years spent in battle, but even in the darkest depths of the conflict not long passed he had never known them to so intensely pervade the house, both above and below stairs.

At present, the room was so quiet it was almost like a vacuum. Daisy's clattering in the kitchen next door barely made any discernible difference to the echoing silence. Though he was comfortable with solitude, had become enough accustomed with it to regard it as a consoling companion, John had to admit he found it a touch unnerving this particular evening. In the absence of having any other task to carry out, he was reminded swiftly to take a seat, allowing his knee some much needed rest.

It was not long until he was joined by another, a rather listless figure appearing in the doorway. John exchanged a look with Thomas as he eventually sat down at the far end of the table, keeping a clear distance. He let out a faint sigh when his silent expression of acknowledgement, even a little empathy, was returned with cool disdain. In the circumstances it wasn't as pointed as usual, but all the same Thomas had not allowed his envy to be tempered. John couldn't see what else could be done; he had offered an olive branch not long after his return, attempting to make afresh in all senses, but the younger man had not wanted to accept. He was not too troubled; they both had greater things to occupy them now.

The hush continued to reign, and John wondered if he should venture upstairs, even though he was not needed by his Lordship at present. He was sure he could be putting himself to some better use, especially as he had been gone from the house all morning. Poor Mrs Hughes had surely been run ragged, and it seemed very ungentlemanly to let her take on so many tasks, yet when he had tried to intervene she had been insistent.

He couldn't imagine that Anna would refuse his help; indeed, she would welcome it quite openly, perhaps a touch too much given the news he had relayed earlier. It was so unusual for him, but he was finding he had to strive hard to contain himself from charging down the corridors and shouting it for all to hear.

She was likely readying the rooms, perhaps with Jane. He would have liked to have assisted her instead; it always made him smile to think of that one time they prepared Lady Edith's bed together. Even though there had been something of a tension of deeply felt but unspoken emotion rushing between them, it was a moment that he fondly cherished. It was such a foolish thing to imagine then but he hadn't stopped the image from appearing in his head; of them making up the sheets in their own house, their fingers meeting in the middle of the mattress. The scene was still a long way off for the moment but now was almost tangible amongst a head of daring dreams.

He was still thinking of the dazzling smile that she had left for him over her shoulder when last he had saw her; the smile that spoke of all her hopes and dreams coming true, all the things that he had waited so long to be able to completely share told to her in his own joyful replying gaze. That wonderful smile had sustained him all day, and could keep life running through his veins for the rest of time, but now he longed to tell her so much more.

A rattling came nearer. It was still bewildering how a mere slip of a girl could make such commotion.

"Oh, I'm ever so parched," Daisy exclaimed, swiping her hands against her apron before bringing one up to her brow. She looked flustered, and a flash of fear could be seen sparking in her eyes as she stared at the droplets of sweat upon her fingers. "It isn't half hot in there. I feel a bit funny. You don't think…?"

"You can't catch Spanish flu from peeling spuds," Thomas snickered, raising a cigarette to his mouth. Daisy's face fell and John's soured in indignation towards Thomas.

"Mr Bates, you don't think Mr Carson would mind if I had a cup of tea and just sit for a couple of minutes, do you? I don't know how long Mrs Patmore will be, and I wouldn't think of it otherwise," she babbled away.

"Well, in his absence, I can't see why he would complain. And even if he was here, I shouldn't imagine he would think that one cup of tea would cause the whole house to fall."

John smiled softly at the kitchen maid, and she returned it with a look of incredible relief.

As Daisy set about brewing the tea, he lifted up the book that had been in his lap to rest against the table. He never could resist a detour to the bookshop whenever he was in Ripon, and he had had a little time to spare until the bus heading back to Downton was due to arrive.

Smoothing his hands over the cover and unbroken spine, John bobbed his head lightly in appreciation. A new volume of Yeats. It had been so long since he had got the last one, and the print had nearly been worn off with repeated reading.

There was something about Yeats that both challenged and soothed him. Though he had many volumes of other poets that he knew he really should have taken a closer look at, it was always Yeats he would return to in the frequent hours where sleep eluded him. Whenever he seemed to have lost himself, the words within each page would call to him in his own voice, so many as close as if he had penned them with his own hand. It was puzzling, sometimes, but reassuring too. Someone else understood what he was feeling, and was much more eloquent than he ever could be at expressing it.

He let the pages cautiously flutter beneath his fingertips, he was too anxious to find what was inside without really looking at first. He began to settle, and as he did so, he felt a set of inquisitive eyes fix upon him.

"Which one is that, Mr Bates?" Daisy trilled, huddling her hands around the chipped cup, her eyes wide. She was always interested in what he happened to be reading, and John was glad to see it. He hoped she had enough time to read for herself, though as she never seemed to stop, he very much doubted it.

"W.B. Yeats. William Butler."

The girl let out an almost unheard laugh at this, and John tilted his head to the side for a second, arrested by a passing image. He looked at Daisy, who now seemed troubled, and smiled.

"This is his new volume. I only purchased it today, so I'm looking forward to discovering it. God knows I've almost worn the old words out."

John flicked the book closed again, keeping one finger within to keep his place. _The Wild Swans at Coole_. Already so many images were conjured up, dancing wild in his mind. He was certain there would be many poems that Anna would enjoy hearing. A warmth washed over him, and he shifted in his chair as he imagined reading to her in the dark and slight chill of the courtyard, pressed side by side on those rickety crates. He imagined softness and the heat of her skin against his, familiar but never before known to him, laying together flushed and spent and blissfully happy, as man and wife.

"I can't see the point in pouring over all that," Thomas exhaled a long smoke-filled breath, and given that he hadn't stopped all that long ago himself, John was surprised at how much he despised the scent. "It's just a load of words plonked down on a page, any one of us could do that. It's got no meaning to life, at least not ours." Stubbing out the cigarette pointedly, a smirk smirched his lips. "And more fool the saps who waste their time actually studying it."

John knew he was angling to get a rise from him, so he simply smiled.

"You should give it a try, Mr Barrow. You never know, you might just learn something."

Thomas folded his arms and arched his brows, looking like he was aiming for his next shot until steps were heard far down the hallway. In less than a second he was up, buttoning his jacket with his face pale. Thomas hurried out on his heels, off to squirm again, trying to claw his way back into the good books. John didn't hold back from chuckling this time, a touch amused at how the tables had turned.

Alone as not too long before, he opened the pages full again, relaxing back against his chair. The room returned to its previous lull but now the sounds of a thousand syllables were his welcome company.

The title of one poem stood proud at the top of this particular page, and it held John immediately. Before his eyes drifted down to begin the verse proper, he pondered it awhile, his brow furrowing before the corners of his mouth started to slowly turn upwards in a reluctant smile.

'_Men Improve With The Years.'_

It was a bold statement, was his initial thought, and one that on the face of things seemed more than a bit preposterous. But he had read enough poetry to know that it was unwise to take it at face value, and that was certainly the case when it came to Yeats.

The gnawing pain that had knotted against his bones and was rifling through his knee at this precise moment cackled cruelly at the notion. He was reminded of his drawn-out period of recovery, the frustration, the time of mourning he had gone through. He had felt so old so prematurely and angry at the world, ashamed of himself. As time went on, he had accepted his injury but he had never felt like it was a part of him. The first cane he had been equipped with was a fierce wound to his pride and his soul. Even now, every time he glanced down to his side, he was reminded of that fateful day when he had been impaired and in turn had become prevented from doing so many things, looked down upon with scorn and pity. Scarcely an improvement.

Yet his time at war had proved to be one of the milestones in his life, one of the very things that had been instrumental in shaping him into the man he was today. A man who had improved, beyond measure. He thought briefly of the young lad who had been wandering lost, almost verging on the point of recklessness, and found it hard to believe they were once one and the same. He had attained so many values and gone through so many hardships, and they all had their part to play. His physical wound had proved in the long-term to be responsible for his emotional cleansing. Many would find it unbelievable that a stint in prison could possibly be construed as improving a man in any fashion, and while he would always bear marks on his character because of it, he could not regret that the time had done him good. It had allowed him the chance to relinquish his addictions and cast off the worst of himself. It ensured that he could restart his life, shed his skin, and earn the right to aim to become better.

The more he read that title, the more he was in agreement with it. Whether it could stand true for all men, he was not convinced. He thought sadly about William, the sting of his loss still raw amongst them. Already such a fine young man, finer than he could have claimed to have been at that age, and certainly he would have grown to become even better. Thomas, on the other hand, was a harder case to prove. He had ambition, that was one thing, but his time away only seemed to have sharpened it into something harder than steel and even more impenetrable. There was time, and time could always surprise. John maintained that he had no right to judge any man.

The years had played their games against him, and they had not always been merciful. There were many instances when he expected he would have broken and crumbled to dust, and at many times he would have been happy to have done so. Sometimes he had idly wondered whether there was some purpose to all that he was enduring. It seemed almost pointless to build yourself up when there was nothing there to await you.

The smile spread across his face as his thoughts drifted to her once again.

If he had truly improved in recent years, it had only ever been because of her. He had been but a few steps from breaking again when he had come here. There had been little reason to go on, until she herself became the reason. All of it was down to Anna. With the promise he was more than halfway to fulfilling, he just hoped he could go on to be even better, to be everything she needed. There was no greater role he could occupy, no greater honour that could be bestowed upon him on this earth or in a thousand heavens.

He pressed his hand down onto the page, immersing himself further as he read.

'_I am worn out with dreams;  
A weather-worn, marble triton  
Among the streams;  
And all day long I look  
Upon this lady's beauty  
As though I had found in a book  
A pictured beauty,  
Pleased to have filled the eyes  
Or the discerning ears,  
Delighted to be but wise,  
For men improve with the years;'_

How vivid the image was, and how very true. Once again he found himself taken aback with the accuracy of what was before him. He was worn out, long worn down, a marble triton with his own unconventional spear keeping him fixed to the ground. He had done less than dreaming for years now, only beginning to believe mere hours ago. The waiting had drained him of his energy but filled him with fortitude, and in days he would be revived with so much love he had never imagined could belong to him. She would belong to him, and he to her, forever. Anna would be his wife.

How long he had wanted to call her that. It still seemed so unreal to him that she would want to look his way for seconds, never mind be at his side forever. He was weather-worn in more ways than one, past his prime physically and tainted by so much bad experience. No matter how much he tried to beat against the tide, they would always be a part of him, those dark marks. The ones that could not be seen went deeper and caused him greater worry than the ugly lacerations that scarred his leg. Anna had not even bore witness to those as yet and he knew he was still reluctant to reveal himself fully, even after they had wed, for fear of repulsing her. He hated to consider that he would do far worse than that in time. Though she did nothing but assure him that there was no better man for her, he could not help that think they should have been incompatible.

Anna was so pure, so flawless in every manner. He could not have believed that any angel could have come close to rivalling her radiance. She was beautiful, inside and out. In all his life, he had not come across such beauty as belonged to her. Such beauty, he knew, was truly unique to Anna. And that he had the privilege to look upon her beauty, day after day. He knew he would never live to see something that could possibly eclipse it.

In those unbearable months when he had been apart from her, when he had believed he had lost her forever, he wished that he would have had a portrait of her in his possession. Yet no portrait would have captured her true grace, her elegance, her exquisiteness. She may not have been born a lady but she took the form of one, in every sense. She held herself with such poise, the curve of her spine and fine neck so straight and dignified as they all stood in line. Too often he had expected to receive a stern look of warning from Mr Carson by having his eyes averted from the horizon straight ahead, being caught captivated by Anna's profile.

Her smile brightened days that were already full of sunshine and brought salvation to the darkness he was often surrounded in; her laugh was sweeter than any song that was to be heard; her eyes were so perfect and enchanting, they could have led a million men to their acquiescent downfall. It was to his dismay that her hair was always held up and covered by caps or frills. He had only ever seen it loosened a number of times and he had not believed she could have appeared more beautiful, until he saw the braid cascading down her back. How he longed to behold the light shining upon her tresses, making them seem like spun gold, flowing about her shoulders. He had seen only her hands and a glimpse of her ankles uncovered, the creamy pale skin unblemished. The thought of finding expanses of it, exploring carefully with his hands, in the same way he was grasping this book delicately, made him drown.

But Anna was not merely beautiful in the way pictured beauties were. Her beauty shone from her with everything she had. She was composed of beauty. The way she showed unwavering kindness and compassion no matter whether concerned with the highest aristocrat or the poorest beggar; how she stood alongside others when they fought to voice their beliefs, and how she was unafraid to display her own conviction. He knew well enough of that, and couldn't have expressed how thankful he was for it.

She was forthright while still always being gentle, and so very strong. How much iron strength could be held within that dainty frame was remarkable. He smiled now thinking of when she had asked him, with a saddened and yet determined look upon her face, whether she was not as strong as Lady Sybil. She had ten times the strength, and had preserved yet more over these past few years. They would have not come so far and certainly would not be where they were now if it had not been for her resilience. She had put up with him after all, stayed steadfast and loyal to his peculiar heart when he had broken hers repeatedly. She had not broken, and bore everything with astounding dignity. In the face of adversity, she had only ever thrived and so had their love. All thanks to her. John felt himself weak in the presence of such strength and beauty. It would take him several lifetimes to possess just an ounce of the resolve Anna had.

He had so much to learn still, but she would be his example. She would guide him every step of the way that remained, just as she had done through it all so far, and he would spend the rest of their days together repaying her for what she had done for him.

He had already learned from the way he loved her, a fantastic revelation but something he had always knew. For she was the strength that was within him, the power that had seen him through and that which was waiting to emerge. She was much more than that.

Anna had not merely made him a better man, but she was the better part of him. She completed him.

'_And yet, and yet,  
Is this my dream, or the truth?  
O would that we had met  
When I had my burning youth!'  
_

He paused upon those lines, feeling an ache rifle through him. How could he had lived so long without half of his very being? It was strange how he should have survived. Perhaps he had been living merely in a dream, with just the promise of the truth now known keeping him barely awake.

He had contemplated the thought often before, another reality that could have not possibly been. Wondering, and partly wishing, that he would have known Anna years before, when he was fitter and younger and could have given so much more to her. He spent many hours thinking of how clearer the way would have been for them in a time and a place where he was free of burdens and black troubles, and where he could have loved and married her in the way she deserved. How happy they would have been, how carefree; their only concern being whether there were enough hours in their days for all the love they wanted to share and give to each other. It truly would have been another life. It also would have meant that he would have enjoyed the blessing of Anna in his life for longer; sometimes, he regretted that there were so many years between them, and inevitably he would leave her earlier than intended, though he would take so much of her with him whenever and wherever he would go.

The thoughts seemed to fade as quickly as they came, and he was frustrated at that, of his simple joy being denied even in dreaming. But then he felt assured, knowing without question that the truth that had taken time to come along was deeper in all of its joy and true fulfilment. In the days of his burning youth, he may have risked scorching Anna with too much passion. He was different then, and though he was certain he would have loved her just the same, as she would have been as wonderful as she ever was, the thought that her love for him may have been altered ever so slightly depending on the way he had been unsettled him.

Up until not very long ago, he had been thoroughly ashamed of all of his misdemeanours, of everything that had been a part of his past and in turn his present, all of which he could not erase. It had taken him a while to listen to her, even though he knew her words would never be false. Everything he had been and done had made him the man that stood before her, the man she loved and would do so for all eternity. Though it had been hard on them before and even for too long afterwards, they had met at the right place and in the right time. It wasn't ideal, and he still sorely regretted that he had been impatient, not waiting for her when he knew deep down she would be there, ready to embrace him with open arms and an open heart. How he wished she would have been the first to have him as a husband, that he could have known her as his wife first. And yet she would always be the first, the only, the rightful owner who lay claim to his heart, and that was all that seemed to matter, now and forever.

All that mattered was the coming days and the moment that would lead on to so many more, perhaps not all as significant but all equally magnificent. The greatest dream he had ever envisaged would come true. He would grow old with Anna, spending the rest of his years with her next to him, giving her the best of him. The best that she had made possible.

'_But I grow old among dreams,  
A weather-worn, marble triton  
Among the streams.'_

She came in softly, and he looked up from the page in time to catch the sight of her smiling full in front of him before she slipped into place by his side effortlessly. It was the same smile she had worn hours ago, but now even bigger, having had the time to blossom on her face. John wondered whether it had left her throughout all of her work, and the thought combined with the simple fact of her being there with him now made him smile too.

"Is that new? I don't think I've seen you with it before." She eyed the cover as she edged her hand a little over the table, just brushing his sleeve.

"It is. Yeats."

John's smile widened seeing Anna's eyes light up and a glow brush over her fair complexion.

"Is it good? I hope to hear some soon."

"I've only had a little look so far, but what I have read is certainly interesting." An eyebrow quirked involuntarily as he regarded the stream of words nestling before him briefly again, the very familiar ideas flowing through his mind. "It would be my pleasure to read you something from it." Though they were alone, his voice lowered. "I shall have to pick a special choice to read to you once we are wed, as a present."

A little catch of a breath left her, and John pursed his lips. Her eyes sparkled bluer than he had ever seen them. She laid her hand over his and he took it gently, casting the book closed.

"You don't need to give me any present. Being married to you will be present enough."

Her slender fingers wrapped themselves in the spaces between his, fitting there like the missing pieces.

"Friday," she uttered softly. "That's so soon. Though not soon enough." She laughed and John echoed her in the empty hall. A shake of her head, her lips bursting with their secret. He stroked his thumb over her skin, tracing the shadows of her veins. "I'm so happy, Mr Bates. I've never been happier."

He could see that she shone with happiness, clearer than anything. He hoped she could tell how overjoyed he was too.

Squeezing her hand lightly, he let out a chuckle.

"I do hope when we are married that you'll finally start calling me John."

Anna blushed faintly, and then smiled quite cheekily.

"Perhaps I will, when you can call me Mrs Bates."

The very way she said it, just in the same lovely way she had always said his name, made his heart expand in his chest. She broke into another smile, more beautiful than the last. He had been calling her that for years, somewhere within him.

Taking her hand from the table and bringing it nearer to him, he sighed as his other hand ran over the leather spine of the volume.

"Thank you, Anna. For making this possible. For being so insistent."

"Well, I knew you wouldn't be," she tutted. He frowned for a second before he knew she was teasing.

"You know I wanted…"

"I do."

A smile formed on his lips again as he stared into her eyes, smoothing over her warm skin. There was so much he had to thank her for, but he would never be able to find the words, or indeed stop once he had started.

Instead, he would tell her what was in his heart, though he was sure she could hear it beating from a million miles away. Leaning over, he let go of her hand to cup her face instead, bringing her lips to meet his tenderly. It was a careful kiss, wary of their surroundings, but at the same time he let more of himself go, caressing the curve of her cheek while he aimed to be honest as he could be with her, leaving her with nothing but the sweetness of his wondrous dreams and the fervour of his truth.

John watched closely, delightedly, as Anna's eyes stayed shut for a few seconds, then slowly blinked open. She smiled, more sincerely than ever, making him want to weep with joy. Then her reddened lips turned into a shocked little pout.

"Mr Bates," she intoned with a lilt that thrilled him, "considering we're not married yet, that was quite daring of you. Kissing in the servants' hall? You should be thankful that Mr Carson is in his sickbed."

He smirked a little. "And that's not all of it. I'm afraid I've let Daisy have a cup of tea as well."

Anna widened her mouth in apparent horror, and then couldn't resist giggling tunefully.

"Oh dear. Well you certainly won't get a promotion in time that way."

John smiled to himself considering her playful statement.

However time unfolded, he knew he could not gain any bigger improvement to his person than being Anna Smith's husband.


	4. The Things That Could Be, Of You and Me

**A/N: I'm not sure I'll get to update this again before S4 starts as there are a couple of other things I want to work on before then, but I think this would be a moment we would all like to see in S4, so maybe it's kind of fitting...?**

**Thanks ever so much for reading.**

* * *

Anna kept walking, even though her speed had reduced by now to less than an amble, each step slower than the last. She raised her head for a moment to see that the sun had sunk beneath the clouds, a drifting breeze coming down to meet her. It refreshed her only a little. She gazed back down at her feet, which were pleading to come to a stop. It was times like this that she would rather the path wasn't quite so long. She would have given anything to be able to sit down; she thought she might very well plump herself down there on the dusty road, not caring how ridiculous she might have looked or that she would have to get up even earlier the next day to rinse through her dress. Her feet just throbbed so much, and this evening they felt even bulkier than normal. She supposed she had been on them rather a lot today. Still, it was rather strange that she should feel the fatigue so intensely now, given what the past two decades and a little more of her life had consisted of.

She let out a tiny sigh that floated away on the spring wind, and then smiled easily when she registered the reassuring weight of her husband's strong forearm underneath her hand, their arms looped together as they always were when they took the walk home together. Immediately when they stepped from the servants' entrance, her hand would find his or his would find hers without hesitation or any need to say or know otherwise.

Leaning a little more on him for support, Anna looked off into the distance, the clearing edging just that bit closer. She didn't mind at all how long it took now. In fact, she was certain she could keep walking forever, so long as he was by her side. They must have walked the road a thousand times or more now, each time filled with enthralling conversation, happy laughs and prolonged kisses, which only delayed the journey further. But though each was wonderful in its own little way, to Anna it would always remain as sweet as the first time they had gone hand in hand, as man and wife, before they even had a home to call their own. Every night, she would shiver remembering everything he had said to her then, word for word; recalling how good and how _right_ it had felt to be able to hold onto him after so long, showing the simple fact of their love without a care in the world. Though when they had got back to the Abbey later that afternoon they both knew they would face another wait to be together properly, nothing could have deprived her of the most euphoric feeling she had ever known. To be with her husband and to know that their whole life was ahead of them, ready to begin.

It had begun long ago now, and yet the thrill of it was still in Anna anew. She could walk to the ends of the earth and well into heaven yet, and she could never be tired.

Her hand had slipped into his again, and it received a gentle squeeze. Anna came out of her daze, looking up at her husband's fine and tall figure with eyes that admired him so.

"You seem distracted," John acknowledged, though he still wore a soft smile on his countenance as he regarded her. His fingers curled around hers. "Are you feeling well?"

"Yes, quite well," she smiled, wriggling her fingers beneath his, her knuckles tickling the inside of his palm. A laugh bubbled within her as he barely kept a groan from surfacing. "I was just thinking, I am glad that spring is here." The hour was lighter than she had expected it to be, and she loved how the falling sun brushed his features, making his eyes simmer as she glanced up towards him. "I thought it might pass us all by completely this year."

His thumb swept over her hand in leisurely but assured strokes. "Indeed," he exhaled, the word so plain but saying so much. Anna nodded as they progressed, a certain sorrow held in her throat. As her grasp got tighter she felt John's gaze upon her, making her feel at peace. "Everything must go on."

They shared a smile, so many memories passing between them in a single look.

"Lady Mary is doing better," her voice brightened as they went on, keeping step with one another. "It has taken a while, but I think the worst of the storm is over. She was even well enough for a walk with us and Master George today."

"That is good news. I know his Lordship has been anxious about her."

Anna knew that much as well, given the often late hour she would sit in the hall waiting for John to be dismissed, Lord Grantham needing the steadying presence and soothing words of his old comrade.

"Did you all have a pleasant afternoon?"

"It was lovely," Anna mused happily, her face soft and wistful as she thought about how the day had been. "We didn't go too far, just around the grounds and into one of the gardens. Ruby spent most of the time chasing George around, I think she ended up more exhausted than he was. I can't believe he's crawling so quickly already."

"Well, he is a Crawley. I dare say they've always been ahead of the game."

Anna grinned, taking a little pause as her step skipped. She moved her hand back to clamp onto John's arm and he shifted slightly to accommodate her, feeling her sigh through her touch upon him.

"What is it?"

His voice was like velvet, wrapping around her.

"In the sunshine, his hair was so fair. It seems to be getting lighter by the day." She pondered for a moment, wondering whether the sight of her little boy brought great comfort to Lady Mary or shattered her barely repaired heart into splinters. "He looks so much like his father."

Her eyes were shining as she looked back into John's. There were moments when, despite being reassured that it wasn't possibly down to her, she felt terribly wracked with guilt over what had happened. The thought of living without John had kept her awake for years, the distant fear at times far too close to becoming a reality, but she couldn't dare imagine it now. It would have destroyed her, especially if they had a child themselves. For the briefest second, she felt a relief that she hadn't fell yet, but it passed very quickly, replaced with a deep longing that went to her soul. To have a child of John's; there was no bigger dream left for her to fulfil.

Studying the arch of his brow, the almost indescribable hue of his irises, the cupid's bow curve of his lips, she wondered. They were all fine features, much finer than hers, even if he did insist on telling her otherwise daily.

The span of his hand, roughened by a lifetime of hard work in different forms, covered hers. Contentment settled all about her. She thanked her lucky stars that she could have his touch as close as she desired it, and it did the job of quieting her troubled thoughts.

"Well, that's a blessing for us all. Mr Crawley was a fine man, and I'm sure Master George will thrive by example."

Anna smiled, her gaze falling to the path, her body held nearer to her husband's. His arm guided her nearer still, and she was reminded vividly of that afternoon, nearly three years ago to the day.

It would still take a little while yet, but she suddenly found herself wanting to be behind closed doors, where she could get much closer.

* * *

They settled down into their evening routine reliably once they arrived back, Anna thoroughly enjoying pottering about preparing the tea while John made up the fire in the sitting room. She was glad it wasn't warm enough as yet to do without a fire of a night; their little room looked ever so cosy with the flames kindling in the hearth, and it was a favourite pastime of both to gaze at the glow as it danced before their eyes, Anna nestled against the breadth of John's chest, feeling safer than she could anywhere else.

Happily full from their supper, John sat in his chair not far from the side of the fire reading, for the most part quietly, though every now and then as a passage roused his interest he would mutter softly, his hand that was not holding the book suddenly lifting up into the air. Anna giggled, charmed by the sight as she took the things into the kitchen again, cleaning and replacing them swiftly. She stretched her arms out as she wandered back into the sitting room, a hand resting idly just above her stomach when she removed her apron.

Sensing she was there, John closed the book and put it down on the side table, his elevated hand now reaching out towards her figure, beckoning her to 'come here' with a darkened look. Anna's steps went willingly, her smile beaming as she curled up her legs and draped herself across his lap, getting naturally into the position that they'd quickly learned was comfortable for them both and was one of the habits that finished up their evenings.

She couldn't help smiling as she felt his hand at the back of her head, beginning to remove the pins from her hair carefully yet deftly.

"My, Mr Bates, somebody doesn't want to stay up too long tonight."

John smirked, his eyes containing that curious but wonderful mixture of softness and unrestrained desire.

"You did say you were tired," he drawled as his other hand trailed circles over her wrist.

Anna arched her brows questioningly, and they both erupted into laughter, as they were prone to do every time they were sat like this. She allowed him to take out the rest of the pins and mewled as he threaded his fingers through her loosened locks, doing so with such considered concentration.

As she moulded herself further to him, she found that her mind wasn't quite as relaxed as her body just yet. Bobbing her head up, she met his gaze, her oceanic eyes sparkling inquisitively.

"Who do you think our baby will look like?" she uttered, the words reverberating through her and him both though she had said them in a near whisper. "I mean, which one of us will it take after most?"

John's eyes widened in expectation and hope, and Anna felt a pang of sadness when after a second she had to shake her head softly at the silent question. His hand splayed warm over her stomach while his other arm wrapped around her shoulder, and she felt his body shift like a sea beneath hers.

She should have known what he would answer. "You, God willing. Otherwise the poor thing would need all the help it could get."

Anna gave him a little thump against his chest with her swatted hand.

"John, you know that's an awful lie."

"You did ask."

She looked up as her back rested against him, seeing a sentimental smile upon his face and feeling herself start to melt for the reason that was behind it.

"Even if it's a boy?"

"Especially if it's a boy."

She tapped him with her knuckles lightly again, feeling his chuckle against her spine. It did occur to her that she was being quite hypocritical, for she hoped for the opposite. In her mind, their child would be just like John in every fashion. She pictured a boy or a girl with dark hair, a few errant locks just above their eyebrows that curled rebelliously no matter how often she smoothed them down. They would have soulful, searching eyes that rendered them full of wisdom even when they were tiny. They would think too much and not say enough, be docile and polite in the company of others but talk their mother's ears off in private and she would cherish every single sound they made.

John's hand was rubbing over her belly delicately, and she placed her hand over where his lay. She didn't have a particular preference for a boy or a girl. She would dearly love to gift John with a son who could follow faithfully in his footsteps; her heart swelled at the thought of being the mother to a fine young man who was every inch her husband. She believed that John may have preferred a daughter; actually, he made no secret about it, and so that swayed her a little, though they couldn't pick and choose. Really, she hoped for more than one child, if God would be so kind to grant them after all the hardship they had faced. Perhaps just one of them could be blonde and blue-eyed and never give their father a break.

"Of course, it's not just about what they will look like," John smoothed the ends of her hair as he spoke. "It's a far greater measure of what they will be like if we think of their character."

Anna grinned, letting her fingers fit into the spaces between his before she turned a little in his arms to face him, her eyes lit up.

"Oh, I know much more about that," she chimed, stroking her free hand over his waistcoat, unfastening a couple of the buttons as she went.

"Really? Would you care to tell?"

"Certainly. Well, first of all, they'll never be without a book in their hands." She eyed the battered volume atop the table next to them, and then saw him rolling his eyes, only a touch exasperated. "From the very minute they're old enough to do so, they'll be reading day and night. I'll have a terrible job getting them to take their nose out long enough to eat dinner."

"Well, that is funny," John took up her hand, placing it over the steady beat of his heart. "Because I'd rather pictured they'd be more agile, putting their hands to everything." He lifted her fingers to his mouth, kissing the pad of each one in turn. "They'd do any task, and do it extraordinarily well. And then at the end of each day, come rain or shine, they'd lead a merry dance out into the garden where they would stay until midnight and not want to be put to bed. Even though they'd complain about it come morning."

Anna was enlivened by the light dancing in his eyes. She jumped a little in his lap, placing a hand upon his shoulder. John gave a fond chortle as he continued with his notions.

"They will be thoughtful and sweet and charitable, most of all to poor saps who don't have the sense to stop themselves from being pushed over."

She narrowed her eyes at the look on his face. "They will be accomplished and hold themselves well and make allowances for everyone, even for silly chumps who don't deserve such good grace."

John's expression was awed, and he lay one more gentle kiss on her hand.

"They won't do as they're told, and won't speak up for themselves when they should," she said, a little admonishing. "But they will always know what is fair and good, and their heart will always be in the right place."

She moved forward to try and snatch a kiss but was stopped by his hand caressing her cheek, his eyes looking into the depths of hers.

"They will be patient, and stubborn, and never give up until they have what they want." He smiled, catching the one tear that had fallen from her eyes with his thumb. "But that thing they desire, whatever it is, will be all the luckier for having such love afforded to them."

This time, as Anna leaned forward, John let her come to him, pulling her closer with his hands while hers pressed against his chest. They both savoured the kiss, which was full of love, love that was more than enough to be divided and shared endlessly.

John was smiling as he drew away, his hands smoothing down Anna's back, relieving her of the dull ache that had set low there.

"Each one of our children will have one of those traits," he said, knowing strong in his voice.

She looked a little shocked, but was delighted underneath it all. "Each one? How many are you planning, exactly?"

He chuckled, watching the smile on her face get wider. "As many as you want, my love. You should have all the children you desire. And I am truly honoured to be the man to give them to you."

Anna cupped John's cheek, the beginnings of his new beard prickling her fingertips, a soft ember of light filling her eyes and warmth spreading through her being.

She leaned forward to lay a few warm kisses above his jaw, nuzzling her nose against the crook of his neck, breathing in his earthy scent, the product of hours of hard work and the hint of spring air he had carried home with him.

"You are a wonderful husband," she whispered, the waves of her emotion speaking much louder.

He brought her closer for a moment, kissing the top of her hair, but then Anna was disappointed to find him adjusting her in the chair as he made to move. John answered her beseeching blue eyes with a smirk that beckoned crinkles to emerge around his own.

He rubbed the tops of her arms softly through her dress, and Anna couldn't leave off sighing.

"And this wonderful husband is going to run his beautiful wife a bath."

There was a distinct rasp in his voice that set little jolts running through her, which only got stronger as he took her heel in one of his hands, stroking the skin of her aching ankle. Anna didn't fight the urge to pull herself forward, looping her fingers urgently into his hair, the pomade that was holding it in place now worked out completely.

That one strand of hair had bounced free while they had resumed their kissing, and Anna giggled as it continued to hang over his forehead despite her attempts to put it back in place. She didn't know why she tried; she dearly loved that little lock, finding that it did very peculiar things to her.

"That is wonderful, indeed. But I'll only get in if you join me," she said, her own voice sultry and trying to match the lowness of his, as far as was possible in her sweet tone. She nearly laughed aloud when she beheld the roguish grin spreading across his face. "It is big enough for two, after all. And if we want to see if it will fit another little person, we'll have to start somewhere."

The peals of her laughter sounded throughout the cottage as she was pulled to her feet, covered in kisses on the way.

* * *

"I saw you in the gardens today, when I left and when I got back. There must have been quite a show to keep you there that long."

Anna smiled thinking of those hours not too long passed. She recalled the sensations that ran circles around her when she saw John striding down the path, giving her a secret smile and tip of his hat as he passed by. How close she had come to running after him as he went, wanting to pull him by the hand into the little enclave guarded by tall shrubs and wildflowers. Alas, her sense of propriety while working had won out, but it had set ideas off in her mind for what could be done with their own garden.

Now as they walked hand in hand, it was a balm to have his skin pressed upon hers.

"Oh, Master George saw some flowers and decided he wanted to pick every single one he could find. He picked these out for me especially."

She carefully took the blooms from her purse, and relished the smile John gave in return.

"The same as from your bouquet."

"You remembered," she replied, the butterflies from that day coming back to fill her once again.

"How could I possibly forget? Every single detail is etched upon my mind and always burning in my heart."

Anna wore the same bright smile that had lit her whole person moments before she had transformed from Anna Smith to Anna Bates, the person she was always meant to be. Her heart soared as he stopped them on the road for a moment, hooking his cane onto his arm so he could lay his hands upon her while his lips captured hers. As she met his kiss with fervour, Anna felt the world come to a still and herself at complete harmony with it.

His fingers danced upon her palm, keeping the memory of his kiss resonating through their touch.

"So, you had a good day then?"

"Oh, yes," she smiled at the road winding ahead of them. "There was a little bit of adventure. George came too close to some of the roses and got a sting from a bee for his troubles. Poor Lady Mary was beside herself. We took him to see Doctor Clarkson, just to be safe."

"And was everything well?"

"Yes. Very well indeed."

She could tell John was puzzled by the sizeable grin on her face, but he simply smiled back down towards her, giving her fingers a squeeze.

"Well, I'm glad to hear it."

The smile lingered on his lips and in his eyes, and Anna could gaze at it forever and a day. It was a good job she was familiar with the dips and troughs in the road now that she could navigate it unseen.

"Oh, I meant to say, his Lordship agreed to me having the day off next week. He said he would speak to Lady Mary too, but was already certain that she'd be more than happy to have you do the same."

Anna sighed contentedly and with a touch of relief. Though they had a much better relationship than most servants and mistresses, she always felt a little uneasy about asking Lady Mary favours, especially when she had been plunged into such misery and needed her duty and support more than ever. But she was getting much stronger day by day, and a word from Lord Grantham could only help matters.

"It will be so nice to be together on our anniversary," she mused. Of course it was a blessing to have any of their free time match up, but this would be extra special.

"That it will, my love."

She closed her eyes, luxuriating in John's lilt.

"And I may already have something up my sleeve."

Her lashes fluttered and she glanced up to him, his eyes twinkling and hiding just a hint of mischief. She adored this side of him, only revealed to her when they were able to be completely free with themselves and one another.

"I shall eagerly await whatever it may be, Mr Bates."

She had barely shrugged out of her coat and was still standing by the door of the cottage, the smile that was making her lips hurt covered by the light touch of her fingertips. Excitement was rushing through her in a swell and it threatened to carry her away if she didn't unleash it soon enough. She could hear tinkering sounds away towards the kitchen and was about to drag John from whatever he was doing, her tested patience wearing thin.

When he appeared again in front of her, she was reminded of the little smile he had given her the very first moment they had met and her stomach began to quiver. It had only made her own grin grow larger. She had intended to save the surprise for the special day just days away, but there was no way she would be able to wait even minutes.

She tried to stop her voice from trembling. "Today, when we went to the doctors, it wasn't just for George."

John's expression was first oblivious, and then grew deeply concerned. Anna watched as the lines on his brow furrowed deeper and his steps came nearer to her. In that moment she loved him more than ever, seeing how his free hand was held out instinctively towards her, to protect her from any harm that could possibly be.

"Anna," his voice wavered more than hers had done. "Is everything okay? Are you okay? You should have said, I would have come…"

His hand shook as it reached towards hers, and Anna captured it comfortingly, calming him with her steady, pure blue gaze.

"I'm fine. In fact, I'm much better than I've ever felt before." She looked into his eyes, smiling serenely, guiding their entwined hands to the seam on her dress that covered her lower belly. "And this little one is quite wonderful too."

The darkness in his eyes turned to almost blinding brightness and he was speechless. The only thing he could do was bob his head, the stunned expression on his face quickly dissolving into a wide smile. Anna held a laugh in her throat, wanting to cry when his palm pressed a little more, cradling the as yet invisible swell with complete tenderness. Though it surely wasn't possible as yet, she was sure she could feel a ripple of movement within her stomach from the moment he had held his hand there.

"Anna, you're…" he began, the words falling from him in joy, breathless.

She nodded her head, her smile shining, both of her hands resting over his.

"I am. Doctor Clarkson said I'm about three months gone. I suppose it explains why I've been feeling so much more tired lately." Even now she could feel a wave of fatigue waiting to overcome her, but it would need to go some way to overpowering the euphoria she was experiencing at this very moment. "I wanted to wait to tell you on our anniversary, but I just would have burst if I had to keep it to myself any longer."

John was smiling adoringly at her and she felt her heart overflow.

"Now is absolutely perfect, it really is. I'll remember this for the rest of time."

She didn't doubt him.

"You're going to be a father, Mr Bates."

"And you're going to be a mother, Mrs Bates."

He took her hand in both of his, brushing his warm lips against her cheek, leaving a trail of kisses there, each more lingering than the last. Soon enough their mouths met, continuing the joyful celebration of what they had both longed for for so much time.

Feeling his hand come to rest between their bodies again, in the place where life was growing inside of her, Anna couldn't help but smile happily into their kisses.

They wouldn't have to wonder for very long.


End file.
